Aps
by LittleMissHyde
Summary: Wall Market is a dangerous place, especially for a girl. Word on the street is that resident bachelor, Don Corneo, is searching for a bride. But all is not as it seems, and one young woman is about to discover the darker side of Midgar. One Shot.


**AN: I wanted to explore the darker side of Wall Market in this story. A lot of humour is derived from Don Corneo's wacky behaviour, and he's often the source of comic relief. But when you stop to think about it, he's a very, _very_ bad person. Anyway, I hope you don't think that my interpretation is too dark. It's hard to portray a character as sinister when their background music is so damn zany! I gave it my best shot though.**

Wall Market is a dangerous place, especially for a girl. Travel in packs, don't wander off, be wary of strange men. An unspoken law.

The sector is home to a local brothel, where the rich and lonely go to buy love. Ask the right questions, pay the right price, she's yours for the night. Bright lights illuminate the poverty laden streets, drawing attention to the tattered canopies and threadbare stalls. An array of stores line the path, accompanied by a single motel used predominantly by those seeking refuge from nagging wives and needy children.

From the nearby workshop, a putrid stench of oil lingers in the stale air, mingling with the heavy musk of smoke billowing from the taverns. A hazy layer of mist envelops the dirt road, littered with sprouting weeds and hazardous debris. Few locals set foot in the area unless necessary, choosing instead to remain safely tucked inside their ramshackle homes.

I gaze at my reflection in the compact mirror, a small crack fracturing the top of the glass. My hair hangs at my shoulders, loose and flowing, a pair of pins holding two strips behind my head. Running a finger across my upper lip, I remove excess lipstick smothering the tender skin, eyes wide and almost fearful. Gut tense, I return the compact to my purse, hands tightly gripping the strap that sits on my shoulder.

From beyond the wagon, I see drunkards loitering in the street, laughing jovially as they stumble to the closest restaurant. Girls in short skirts are standing by open doorways, attempting to usher in those who pass by, smiling eagerly as they lead customers by the hand. They are confident and professional, as though they've been doing it for years.

Up ahead I see a large mansion looming in the distance. My heart begins thumping wildly in my chest, and I suddenly feel nauseous. The two girls sharing my cart look to one another and giggle, adjusting bras and flicking curls as they prepare to step out into the cold chill. We are all competing for the same thing; a chance to survive.

A life in the slums in not a pleasant, nor particularly long one. Disease and malnutrition are rife among the poor, left to soak in pity and despair. Some set up shop in their homes, making a meager wage by selling what little they have. Others own nothing of value, and instead spend their days dreaming of a better future.

A strange pang of sorrow momentarily grips me, swiftly fading with the light of day. Could this be my final day of freedom?

We are not the first girls to seek Don Corneo's hand, and we may not be the last. There have been many before us, all searching for a way out, an exit from the inevitable and bleak ending of their existence. Marry into wealth, and live in the lap of luxury. Anything to escape the perpetual drudgery and oppression.

For many months the Don has been inviting women to his mansion. General rumour speculates that he is interviewing the girls to see which one would best suit him as a bride. A number of starving families have forced their daughters into the position, and there have been instances where men have sold their girlfriends to him, garnering a small fee for their trouble.

My pulse quickens as I step out of the wagon, arms hugging my body as I try to stave off the cold. The fabric of my dress is thin, draping down my legs to gather at my heeled feet. Its unusual for anyone to dress so formally in the slums, but all three of us are vying for his attention, and all thee of us have made the effort.

My palms grow moist as I stare at the intimidating structure before me, thinking of all the girls who have previously entered, yet mysteriously failed to leave. Any accusations are hand-waved as paranoia and bitterness, mostly brought on by irate families whose daughters weren't deemed worthy of the man. But gossip is rife, and there are hints that the Don is merely paying hush money to silence any relatives.

I close my eyes and inhale, thoughts drifting to my concerned parents, how their expressions grew pained as I told them what I was planning to do. I pray that I'll see them again, crossing my fingers and hoping to be chosen. A better life, a safer future.

My throat feels like sandpaper as I swallow, my temples pulsing as I am led to the extravagant entrance. The mansion is out of place among the squalor, its appearance markedly malevolent despite the glamour.

A man of his status has connections, and crossing the threshold means stepping into the unknown. It is his territory, unencumbered by law and order.

Frightened, I keep my head down, eyes to the floor as my feet kick up dust. Two men are waiting for us, their stares scrutinizing and curious. I feel the weight of their gaze upon me, hear them whispering lewd comments and cracking crude jokes. They are familiar with the routine, and seem unaware of my discomfort.

'This way ladies.' One of them says, opening the door.

His friend gestures for us to enter, and one by one, we step inside the bright and lavish foyer. Everything is coated in a golden hue, adorned with priceless china and costly chests. The man has money, and he wants his guests to know.

I fidget with my curls while examining the garish space. A fancy rug lies in the centre of the floor, decorated with the image of a dragon. To my right sits a staircase leading to the upper level, and to the left is the reception. A man behind the counter leaves to inform the Don that we have arrived. He is wearing a tailored suit, much like the rest of the staff.

Lining up, we are taken to a set of double doors on the upper level. A plaque reads, Office Of Don Corneo, and I feel a cold sweat building on my flesh. Palms damp, I wipe them on my dress, stealing a glance at my companions to see how they are faring. Excitement and anticipation illuminate their features, a far cry from the terror gripping my stomach.

'The Don will see you now.'

As the doors creak open, I strain to see beyond the flash of light that blurs my vision. Inside the office there is another rug, this time sporting two intertwining serpents. Seated at a cluttered desk is a short, robust man with waning blonde hair. Stubble sprouts from his chin, and a large gold chain hangs around his neck.

I have never seen Don Corneo in person, and descriptions of him are few and far between. My first impression is one of shock, and though I wasn't expecting Prince Charming, the man before me leaves much to be desired. Disappointment settles, and I look away.

Leaping onto his desk, it's as though he's never seen a woman before. A strange, almost childish enthusiasm overcomes him, eyes roving the three of us with a lustful leer. When he looks at me, I shy away, trying to not to let my insecurity show. An expression of mischief and a toothy grin are all it takes to make me feel dirty.

'Oh, ho ho!' He chuckles, greedily rubbing his palms together. I feel like a plate of food. We are courses on a menu. Starter, main, desert.

I focus my attention on the tall black man situated beside the desk. His hair is styled into a Mohawk. He wears a simple vest, splayed open to reveal his bare chest. Much like his boss, the man seems unable to contain his blatant desire. He wears a smug grin, as though he is above the law and can do as he pleases. I don't like it.

The Don presents himself as a comical oaf, dancing in place as he tries to decide which of us, if any, will be his bride. The tension rises while we wait, and I begin to grow frustrated with all of the suspense.

'Ooh, so many to choose from. I simply can't decide!' He pushes back his chair and stands to his full height. He's only a few inches taller than I am. 'Koch, which one should I pick?'

Upon being addressed, his bodyguard turns his attention our way. With one hand rising to his chin, he seems thoughtful for a moment, as if trying to determine which answer would best please his boss. We do what we can to appeal to his interest; batting eyelashes, smiling sweetly, curling rings of hair round our fingers. I hate having to play coy, but I'm desperate.

'Its a tough one alright.' He finally replies, giving the Don a lazy shrug. 'They're all good looking. I know, why don't you take a closer look?'

'Of course, I can't quite see from over here.'

I gnaw my lower lip as he approaches, trying not to stare at his exposed gut. Perhaps if girls knew what he looked like, they wouldn't be so inclined to come here.

The unsightly man lets his eyes blatantly drift to our chests, unashamed of such a blase attitude. It dawns on me that he isn't marrying for love. He cares not about our interests, our feelings, hopes or dreams. But then again, we care not for his. This is less of a marriage and more of a mutual agreement. We both want something, but in this cold and cruel city, nothing is for free.

'I have come to a decision!' He exclaims, extending both of his short arms. 'My bride shall be...'

I dig my nails into my palm as I await his answer, legs numb as I force myself to remain upright. An unsteady vertigo hits me, and I firmly plant both feet on the ground.

'This one right here!'

I notice that he is pointing at me, and suddenly I go weak in the knees, stumbling slightly as the realization sinks in. The Don has chosen me as his wife. Nothing seems real as I gawk stupidly at the man, blinking through my confusion to witness the other girls throwing irate and envious daggers my way.

Taking me by the hand, my suitor leads me to another set of doors, turning back to briefly speak with his bodyguard.

'You can have the others.'

A look of abject horror washes over the women, and I set my heels into the floor, peering over my shoulder just in time to see the office doors fly open. A myriad of men enter, all of whom appear to be the Don's associates. I try to watch, but the Don yanks my arm with enough force to pull me back. The last thing I hear are the terrified cries of girls being dragged out of the room, followed by a deafening and haunting silence as the doors close behind them.

Cold, I rest my back against the wall and give myself a moment to breathe. What just happened? I try to summon a rational explanation, yet nothing comes to mind. My fingers brush the door handle, and I contemplate fleeing. But even if I tried to run, I wouldn't get very far. Not with all those men around.

I'm trembling, but I persevere despite my uncertainty. We are in a bedroom, as brash and colourful as the rest of the building. It has obviously never had a woman's touch, looking very much like a bachelor pad drowning in neon.

A large and comfy looking chair lives beside a giant lantern, reflecting light from the glitter ball above me. His jukebox emits a slow jazz, filling the room with soft background music. I rub my chilly arms and try not to make eye contact with the man lounging on a king size bed, keeping my body firmly pressed against the wall.

'Why are we in a bedroom?' I ask, voice quivering slightly. I curse myself for sounding so fragile, but I feel vulnerable here.

'Care for a cigar?' He ignores my question, offering me the open box as he props one in his mouth. I shake my head. 'Okay, then perhaps something to drink?'

'No.' I respond, clearing my throat. 'Why are we in a bedroom?' I repeat, the soles of my feet throbbing in my too-tight heels.

'Come, sit with me.' He pats the mattress tenderly, exhaling strong and powerful plumes of smoke. I cough as I inhale, wafting the air with my hand.

I don't want to move, but a strange feeling of obligation inclines me to take up his offer. Shuffling to the bed, I perch myself on the end of it, placing as much space between us as I can. Brushing a strand of hair from my face, I feel the weight of his leer heavy on my back.

'What's your name?'

I tell him, and he coos over how lovely it is. I'm still dumbstruck that he chose me, and a mass of questions strum at my brain. It takes effort to speak, but though my lips are dry, I refrain from asking him for water.

'So, I am to be your bride?' I query, hoping he will elaborate on the matter.

'All in due time.' He says, blowing another puff of smoke into the heavy atmosphere. 'But a bride must be loyal to her husband. You are loyal, aren't you?'

My fingers tightly grip the fabric of my dress, brow furrowing as I try to make sense of his strange question. 'I guess so.'

'Oh how lucky I am!' He exclaims, inching closer to me. 'I've been so lonely here, all by myself in this big house. But now I have you to keep me company.'

My heartbeat picks up speed, aching as it palpitates uncontrollably. The man sits on his knees like a lion about to pounce, eyes erratic as he takes in every inch of my hunched form. I scoot back until my hip collides with the wooden footrest, pinned in place with no way of escape. I drop my bag on the floor, arms instinctively wrapping around myself.

He rests a hand on my thigh, and I jerk away. 'Don't!' I protest, recoiling.

The circling disco ball sends spots of light around the room, enveloping the walls in a plethora of bright spots. I shift on the mattress, dipping into the soft springs as I clamber around the eager Don. He removes his cigar and stubs it out in a nearby ashtray, fragments of ash littering the rug.

'Oh I like you.' He guffaws, chest expanding as he bawls loudly. 'Such a tease, playing hard to get. You really are a little minx.'

I scowl at his choice of words, wondering whether he is merely an ignorant fool, or a scheming pervert feigning ignorance. In a matter of seconds he is on me again, gripping my wrist with his sweaty palms. I shudder at the sensation of his moist skin on mine, surprised at how nimble he is for a man of his size.

'Wait!' I yell, clinging to the feeble hope that he will listen to my pleas.

'But this will be our marriage bed, don't you want to try it out?'

'We're not married yet.' I bluster, prying his stubby fingers from my wrist.

But the man doesn't listen, his hands greedily searching every inch of my body as he tugs at the straps of my dress. I fight him off and try to get away, but he grabs my shoulder and drags me back. I never expected him to be so strong, but his appearance proves deceiving.

My heels slip off my feet in a vain attempt to kick him away, landing in a sloppy heap upon the floor. Scrabbling frantically beneath him, I find my head being pushed into the pillow as he leans in for a messy and unwanted kiss, saliva lining my cheek as I turn to avoid it.

The next one makes contact, and I gag impulsively as his tongue meets mine. Distraught, I start flailing pathetically, knowing that it will do no good. He is heavy atop my scrawny figure, hands pinning me in place as he attempts to disrobe.

My thoughts race as I try to make sense of the situation, bile rising from my gut as the Don forcefully pushes my skull against the headrest. The poorly crafted straps of my dress snap, and I use every fiber of strength I have to keep it from falling down. Embarrassed, I fumble with the few buttons holding the material shut, only for the frustrated man to slap my hands away. A rush of icy air hits my exposed flesh, and I managed to summon the courage I need to shove him off, reaching for the duvet to conceal myself.

'Stop!' I hurl a stiletto at him, but my aim is terrible and it flies over his head.

The Don simply chuckles at my plight, playfully tearing the blanket from my hands. He is treating this as some twisted game. Like a cat hunting an evasive mouse.

'You're a lively one.' He grins, climbing on top of me with a greasy smirk.

I claw at him with my nails, but he shrugs it off, hands roving uninvited. His touch reviles me, and I choke back the brimming tears. The man's hulking frame is a dark silhouette against the flux of light, brief flickers of his face flashing as the glitter ball rotates. I can't breath, gasping as he settles his weight down on my much smaller body. My fists clench, and I brace myself.

Even as he moves I feel asphyxiated, like the complete hopelessness of my situation is slowly draining away the last dregs of my spirit. I squeeze my eyes shut, determined not to meet his gaze, trying to imagine myself in some far off place. The golden beaches of Costa Del Sol, or the vicarious mountains of Wutai.

Eventually he eases up, but I remain still, frozen in place as though I am made of stone. Time passes, yet I feel forever trapped in a dizzying vortex, an empty void where time and space hold little meaning, and the concept of light fails to exist.

I wonder how the other girls are doing. Are they doing better than I am? Regret grips me like a tangle of thorns tearing into my tender flesh. And I begin to panic as I realize that I may never leave this place.

Pulling myself upright, I reach for the scraps of my shawl, taking both shoes in one hand as I begin to dress. My body aches, and I am in a daze, like a mindless revenant shambling through a dark oblivion. The man does not move, though I sense he is watching me. I steal a glance in his direction, vizard content as though he just accomplished some great feat. My anger burns, but I am too tired and distraught to speak.

'Leaving so soon?' He asks, observing my every move as I stumble to the exit. 'What's wrong, don't you like me?'

I open my mouth to respond, but my voice is absent, replaced with a coarse squeak. All I want is to go home and be with my parents, to be cradled in their warm embrace, away from this dark and twisted world. Coming here was a mistake.

My feet catch on the rug as I scurry to leave, but the Don seems intent on making me stay. There is a rope hanging from the ceiling, obscured by all the mess, and my curiosity blinds me for a moment. What is it for?

'I've been thinking.' He says, wearing that stupid, smug grin. 'Maybe you're not the girl for me after all.' Shrugging, he reaches for the rope. 'Looks like I'll have to continue my search tomorrow!'

The rope creaks as he pulls it, opening the floor beneath my feet. As I fall, the Don bids his farewell, calling my by the wrong name as though to further rub salt in my wound. That's the last thing I hear before my skull hits the ground, cracking.

A blood curdling scream invades my ears, but I'm not sure where it is coming from. Everything is dim, and I'm vaguely aware of gushing water. A wet sensation dampens my scalp. Is it blood? I try to look, but my head hurts. I can't move, my limbs unresponsive and my nerves numb. Strange, yet oddly comforting.

My eyes adapt to the dark, and soon I can make out my surroundings. Brick walls and scattered rubble, green from the scum of dirty water. A low yet distinct rumble shakes the room, and in my peripheral vision I see a large figure looming in the distance.

It approaches me, movements clumsy and sluggish, a low guttural growl sending chills down my shattered spine. Water laps over my face, and I splutter as I spit the rancid taste from my mouth. It lingers with death and decay, the bitter flavour of must and sewage corroding my throat. As the creature grows close, more water submerges me, travelling deep down into the pit of my stomach, vile and rancid.

When it sees me, the enormous abomination releases an ear splitting roar, lifting those big, hulking arms above its ugly head. The sound of chains clatter against stone, a set of sharp horns catching what little light illuminates the room.

That is the last thing I see.

 _Aps._


End file.
